A few weeks ago, a plumber came to our house to fix a leak (as plumbers do). Part of that fixing process happened outside at the gas meter. The hesitancy with which I use the term “gas meter,” somewhat unconfident that that’s what the thing is even called, tells you everything you need to know about how desperately we needed this man’s help.
The test he ran involved turning the gas on/off and waiting to see if something happened—say, the needle on the meter moving, or our house exploding, or something else entirely.
While waiting, he and I sat on the ground and talked. He explained what he was doing, I retained none of this, and all the while he did something I’m certain no other plumber in the history of mankind has ever done.
As a species, plumbers are fixers. To my uneducated eye, this seems to be not only a byproduct of their profession but of their personality too. If they see a problem, they want to solve it, preferably with their hands. They’re utilitarian folk who show up day after day to make sure everything “works the way it should.”
In the middle of doing just that, this plumber also worked on something that had no purpose and no relationship to the job at hand. First, he picked up a small twig from the ground and coaxed it into the dirt so it stood up straight, looking like a miniature version of the tree from which it had fallen. Then, over the course of our conversation, which took place over the course of his tests, he added leaves to the twig. One by one, he would poke a hole in the center of a leaf, then slide it onto a bare spot on the twig like he was stringing popcorn or beading a necklace.
At times, he commented on what he was doing (“I’ll have to charge you extra for this temporary art installation”), but for the most part, his fingers worked absentmindedly. If he had a plan or a vision for this little side project, it never showed. He also never finished. At least, I don’t think he did. There came a time when he dropped a leaf halfway through installing it to check on his test which turned out to be complete and led to his eventual exit from our home.
His artwork, however, remained. For how long, I don’t know, but I just checked and it’s not there.
While I wish I could tell you that I noticed it every day after arriving home from work and that it served as a constant reminder of the importance of whimsy and joy amid the stressors of labor, I’m certain no one has given that twig and those leaves a second thought. The plumber himself barely observed these objects even while his hands constructed them.
Yet, this instance came to mind today as I sat here thinking about the purpose of making things.
The objective of this monthly email is that there is no objective. This is simply a place for creativity that I’ve carved out on my calendar and on my computer screen (and in your inbox) where I hope to write things just to write them. This isn’t an argument, a pitch, or a proposition. There’s no call to action, no expectations. It’s just a twig and some leaves.
Do with that what you will. As for me, I simply laughed while I watched the art get made and then forgot about it almost entirely. If that’s the effect these emails have on you, I think that’s okay.
Thanks for reading this far.
-jdw
(Note: If you enjoy this email, please consider forwarding it to someone who might also enjoy it. If you were forwarded this email, you can sign up to receive it on the first Friday of every month. Cheers.)
What I’m Reading and Writing
(I’ve combined these two sections because they’re related)
Every once in a while I go on a David Foster Wallace bender. It usually starts with his essay on lobsters, then ends on the cruise ship (one of my favorite pieces of nonfiction). I’ve been reading some of his lesser known essays, much to the disdain of a certain group of friends, and have found him to be equal parts poignant, silly, and sad.
Having already done my best imitation of him in an essay titled Man Overboard, he’s someone I can’t stop coming back to, and I’m sure you’ll hear more about him from me later.
Speaking of writing I can’t stop evangelizing, I’m also reading every GQ profile I can get my hands on. If you haven’t read one before, I’d recommend starting with Timothee Chalamet (so hot right now) or Tom Holland (spider-man next week y’all) or Olivia Rodrigo (the lady behind numbers 1-5 on my top songs of 2021…whoops).
What I’m Listening To
I don’t normally do this because I’m not a big podcast person. But like everyone in Christendom, I’ve been a faithful listener of The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill. I’ve thought about writing on this before, but I’m not sure it deserves any more space (either in my head or yours).
At first, it was a fascinating story I knew nothing about—a pastor turned dictator that built a church and then imploded it. And it was really interesting, captivating, thought-provoking, and convicting. But there came a point where it turned gluttonous. I listened to it and stewed in the negative experiences of real people as a source of my own entertainment. I simultaneously relished in it and hated it.
While much could be said about the way the show was made, the topics they chose to spotlight, and the perspective that propelled the whole narration, what I’ve realized at the end is that I’m thankful for Martin Luther. I’m thankful that the Bible is available in a language I can read and understand. I’m thankful that knowledge of God is not reserved for a select intellectual few. I’m thankful that I can sit under the teaching of a pastor, read the same thing they’re reading, and confirm or contest their interpretations.
Maybe that’s a very democratic take, but if it’s true that bad people can use good theology for nefarious ends, I’m grateful that anyone with the same book in their hands can stand in the way of those who would pursue evil with what God made for good.
What I’m Drinking
Shiner Cheer. Duh. Peaches and pecans and holly and jolly and merry and bright and to all a good night. The most wonderful time of the year means the world’s greatest beer is finally here. Talk to you in 2022.
(a question for the faithful few who make it down here: what’s your favorite word right now? Mine is phlegm. It’s perfectly disgusting.)